Page 28 of Single-Minded
I should’ve ignored him, kept walking, but I stopped, leaned forward, and said in no uncertain terms, “You know my stance. Not going there.”
He nodded, but it was smug and knowing.
Fuck that.
“Good luck with your fundraiser,” I said and went to catch up with my girls.
They and Presley had stopped near the lemonade stand. All four were engaged in an animated discussion—about lemonade flavors, I realized as I got closer. I grinned, because to look at my daughters’ faces, that topic was an important one in life.
Those girls… They were my everything. My reason for doing what I did. For working my ass off. For giving my all to the summer project that could get me a promotion. The raise that would come with it might enable us to move to a bigger place. The extra cash that would come from working on the coffee shop would fund the girls’ first road trip. I couldn’t wait to travel with them.
We were on our way to better things, the four of us. Everything would be good…as long as I could resist the pull of the enchanting woman who was currently making them smile.
Chapter Eight
West
I wasn’t a religious guy, but I was pretty sure some god somewhere was laughing at me.
I’d never in my life been so captivated by a woman as I was Presley Holiday. I didn’t even normally use words like captivated. I was consumed by thoughts of her, haunted by the desire to touch her, taste her. And I was stuck working on her construction projects for damn near all my waking hours.
It was torture. Sublime, dreadful torture.
Her home project had high stakes. My future depended on its success. Her coffee shop project would be an unexpected mini windfall for my finances. Both would make a difference in my girls’ lives if I didn’t fuck everything up by doing something dumb with the client.
On Sunday, I’d spent hours with Presley at her empty shop, measuring, discussing materials, drafting plans. I’d put together a timeline based on when I could get supplies in and secure childcare.
Monday I’d pulled a permit. I knew Sybil Wilson, the building inspector, well and had already had a conversation with her. She and I went way back, plus she was a coffee addict. I was optimistic she’d work with us to expedite things.
My mom and her husband, Thomas, who lived in Nashville, had agreed to take the girls for a few weekends to give me concentrated work time, which would enable Presley to open her shop sooner and me to get paid faster. Maybe I could swing a road trip with the girls before the school year started.
Today was Wednesday. The guys had gone to pick up lunch at Tripz, the convenience store where everything was guaranteed to be unhealthy and overpriced. I’d brought a sandwich from home, as I often did, and was sitting in my SUV in Presley’s driveway with the window down, listening to a baseball podcast.
Presley had been gone for most of the morning, which should’ve made it easier for me to concentrate as we pulled electrical wires throughout the main floor. Paul was a licensed electrician, so he was in charge of the electric. Damn good thing, because I couldn’t stop glancing around for the homeowner every few minutes like a puppy looking for treats.
I stuffed the last of my sandwich in my mouth and laughed at a comment the sports commentator made about the Yankees.
“Hey, West,” Presley said at my open window, scaring the shit out of me. “If I needed someone to work on my boathouse, is that something your company could do?”
I swallowed my food, congratulating myself for not choking on it, and took a big swig of water. “Afternoon,” I said. “Didn’t hear you coming.”
“Oh. Sorry about that. I parked at the end of the driveway so I’d be out of your way.”
I took my keys out of the ignition, cutting off the podcast, then got out of the vehicle, getting a good look at her as she stepped back.
She wore a fitted plain-white short-sleeve shirt that wrapped to one side and had a deep V-neck, revealing a tantalizing bit of cleavage. The shirt was cropped a good inch or so above the waistband of her button-fly denim shorts. Once again, I imagined running my rough fingers over the soft skin at her waist before undoing those buttons one by one…
I shut the SUV door harder than necessary and told myself to stop with the dirty thoughts. Forcing my mind back to her question, I tried to catch up. I was learning that Presley’s mind never slowed down.
“What kind of work on your boathouse?” I asked as we walked through the garage to enter the house. This was the first I’d heard of anything to do with the boathouse.
She shrugged. “The wood inside is in bad shape. I think it needs to be refinished? And that flat roof… It would make a perfect entertaining space. I think it was intended to be a patio, but there aren’t stairs going up there. The previous owners didn’t use it. I’m just wondering about my options.”
“So you want to use your boathouse for entertaining?”
“I want to use my boathouse for a boat.”
I swung my head to her. “I didn’t know you were getting a boat.”
